Organized Chaos
by Qeani
Summary: Emma had all but forgotten the time when she had signed up for the F.A.U.L.L.T.Y program, as well as that strange dream. That had been ten years ago! But, what happens when she and her sons find a strange package on the front porch one morning? Organized Chaos that's what. Part of the Plush Toy Collaboration.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: As much as I would like to I do not own any of the works of Tolkien. I only own Emma, her two sons, Ian and Zane, Durin the dog, and Fingon the fish, and any other strange people or animals you do not recognize enjoy! Currently looking for a Beta, so if you know one please let me know. Part of the Plush Toy Collaboration created by CrackinAndProudOfIt and Duilin. **

* * *

I suppose if I'd known what I was getting myself into, I would have left it alone. Of course, when you're bored out of your mind, you tend to do stupid things. Such, as I don't know maybe signing up for a visit from Tolkien elves in plush form, it'll be fun I thought, little did I know I was in for the ride of my life.

Well, I suppose that I'd better stop whining, and get to what actually happened, and how it happened, and why it happened. The answer is, eleven years ago when I was fifteen years old, I signed up for the program, fully realizing what could happen. Although to be honest I didn't think that it would. So, as a safe warning do not sign up for things on the internet, that may or may not involve Tolkien. And do not dream about elves.

* * *

_The girl ran through the woods feeling, the wind in her hair, the smell of fresh air. Which was a welcome change to living in, wait, where was she from? She'd forgotten, which was strange, because normally she was rather wary of forgetting things. _

_ She felt an abrupt change of scenery as she found herself in a courtyard, where she saw three very tall men talking. She edged closer curious as what they were talking about, but we all know that 'curiosity killed the cat' but this young woman simply didn't care. _

_ "I am tired of dealing of their incessant whining, and arguing." The shorter of the men said. "You'd think that after spending time in Mandos' halls they could at least learn to get along." He finished quite annoyed._

_ The tallest man stood for a moment thinking about what had been said, before remembering something that had been done before. "If you are willing," he paused. "We have as of late been employing the use of the F.A.U.L.T.T.Y. program." _

_ The bearded man spoke, "but the eldest has already been through that program, and passed with flying colors. Why would you subject him to yet another trial run?" He questioned slightly confused. _

_ The shorter man nodded, "yes, but it will allow them to hopefully grow closer, and heal the rifts between them. Granted they never got along all too well, but having all shared the same burden of responsibility, let us hope that they will understand." He paused before adding "let it be done." With that sealing the fate of his children. _

_ The tallest clearly the leader nodded, "Aulë, if you will prepare the packages, and educate the others on what will happen." He paused smiling; "I believe I already have a caretaker in mind." _

_ Manwë Súlimo turned his head towards the gate and smiled kindly. "Child of men do not fear, please come out, we know you are there." He said beckoning the young women forward. She hesitantly stepped out of the shadows, slightly surprised that they had heard her. She mentally cursed herself before saying the first thing that came to mind: "Ollo, uh, I uh, hello?" she stumbled forward fidgeting with her hands. _

_ "Do you know who we are?" Questioned Aulë. She nodded hurriedly, "I think so, but, no this isn't right, you're not real." She stammered. "But, if you were, well you are Lord Aulë," and pointing to the taller man she said, "Manwë Súlimo, high king of Valinor, and you, well aren't you supposed to be dead?" _

_ At this the shorter man, laughing replied, "No, two ages is quite enough time to spend in the halls of Namo." She blushed realizing, that she probably sounded quite ridiculous, but to be fair your would if you found yourself in the presence of an elf and two of the Valar. "Don't you think its time you returned home." Manwë said turning looking down at the young girl. "You have spent time enough here. It is not yet your time to find yourself in such a place as this. Return to your home, and you in time you shall receive what is yours."_

**Beep, beep, beepity beep** came the incessant blaring of Emma's alarm clock. Moaning she turned over eyes wide as she stared at the clock. Six-thirty a.m. it read, time to start another day. "That was a weird dream." She said rubbing the last bits of sleep out of her eyes, as she swung her legs over the side of the bed.


	2. Eönwë's Delivery Service

**A/N**: **Once again I do not, nor ever will own Tolkien. I only own Emma, Durin the dog, Fingon the fish, and Thranduil the parrot, as well as partial ownership of Ian and Zane. Major thanks to CrackinAndProudOfIt for betaing this. Enjoy! :)**

_Ten Years Later_

Ian and Zane drummed their fingers impatiently on the counter as Emma quickly placed their lunches in brown paper bags. The twin's adoptive mother took a deep breath and glanced at the clock, counting down the minutes before school started. Thirty minutes remained, oh plenty of time.

"Don't forget the cheese sticks," chimed Zane, who was overly fond of cheese, while his twin added, "Or the pudding! It's Pudding Tuesday, remember?"

Emma sighed before hurrying to the fridge to pull out the requested items. After placing two cups of chocolate pudding and two white sticks of string cheese in the brown bags, she looked at the clock once again, just to be sure that they wouldn't be late.

Grabbing keys and purse, she looked around to check that she hadn't forgotten anything. "Keys, purse, wallet, phone-where's my phone?" she asked, looking at Zane, who was notorious for stealing it and taking photos.

"Mom, you're holding it," he said, raising an eyebrow. She looked down at her left hand, and sure enough there it was.

"Alright, grab your things; let's go. Hurry, spit-spot," she said, clapping her hands as the twins grabbed their backpacks and lunches. "Hurry, we don't want to be late on the first day." They froze as the doorbell rang.

"Maybe if we ignore it, they'll just go away," she whispered urgently, distressed by the prospect of delay. Again came the doorbell's chime. Ian looked at Emma as if to say, 'Really, how old are you, seven?' He walked over to the entryway, and much to Emma's chagrin, opened the door.

"Hello, is your mother here?" came a voice from the other side. Ian looked up at the tall gentleman for a few moments before nodding.

"Yeah, gimme a second, she's probably hiding in the corner somewhere," he said, peering over his shoulder with a smirk. "Mom, someone at the door for you."

_'Oh, he's going to get it later,' _the twenty-five year old thought her green eyes glaring daggers at Ian, as she walked to the door. "Hello, what can I do for you?" She smiled, looking down markedly at Ian; the boy gave the innocent smile of any adoring son.

The very attractive man opposite her wore a rather fancy suit, monogrammed with a tag that read, "Eönwë's Delivery Service," which she thought was quite strange. _Who was crazy enough to name a service after some obscure 'Silmarillion' character that had a suspicious resemblance to Hermes?_

"You are Emma Holt, correct?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. For a moment Emma wondered if Zane and Ian could possibly be related to him, as not many people knew the art of that infamous eyebrow.

"What happens if I say yes?" she challenged, still thinking of the eyebrow and the name.

"Perfect, then if you'll just sign here, please..." he said, handing over a clipboard in complete disregard of the question. Passing her phone to Ian and her purse to Zane, she carefully signed the underlined sections. Normally she would have looked at what she was signing, but with two ten year olds peering from behind you... Well, you lose your focus fairly easily.

"Perfect, if you'll give me a moment," said the guest cheerfully, walking to a truck across the street. Emma took the moment to look down at Ian, who merely looked back up at her, still smirking.

"Don't think you're getting out of this easily." She glared. He knew just how to push the right buttons, and especially how much Emma disliked talking to mailmen for reasons involving that a taco and Durin the dachshund.

"Mom, stop being a baby," he said, rolling his eyes. Emma was about to protest and explain the many reasons why she was not a baby, and that she was older and he, younger - when the man walked back up carrying a battered and lumpy box.

"Here, we've had quite the adventure trying to get this to you," he said, handing Emma} the box, and looking very relieved to be rid of it.

The date stamped on it read February 10, 2014. "I'll say!" she ejaculated, looking up. "That was ten years ago." The man shrugged.

"Like I said, we've had a very long time trying to get this to you. Good day, then." He nodded, and then abruptly walked off.

Closing the door, she scratched her head while examining the box, wondering what she could have possibly ordered. That was when she saw the label. 'F.A.U.L.T.T.Y.' _No, that can't be right_, she thought, looking down at the date again. February 10, 2014. Ten years ago.

"Schist!" she exclaimed, dropping the box in surprise. Only she didn't say Schist. She said the other one, which starts with F and ends with K.

Zane and Ian looked up, horrified at the curse. "Mom, I thought only we knew that word," Zane breathed.

"Where did you learn that word?" she demanded, horrified in turn. He was only what? Ten? Where had he learned that?

"From Ian," he answered simply. Ian looked at him like he was ready to pummel someone.

"Yes, well I learned it from Man-" He paused, earning a sharp look from Zane. "Manny, our foster dad. At least that's what we called him. He looked like an elephant, so it seemed the proper name," he explained, both hands raised in the air.

"Well, let's just hope that word isn't used here again. And his name was George not Manny," Emma responded sharply choosing to ignore the fact that her sons knew that word. "Just place the box on the counter; I'll look at it when we get home." She motioned, and Ian nodded and did as instructed, clearly relieved that the matter hadn't been pushed further. "And Zane, please put Durin outside, he needs a pee," she added, walking over to give Fingon a few food pellets. Her pets' welfare had sprung spontaneously to her flustered mind.

"Mom, its 8:15," Zane announced.

"Crap! Hurry, let's get to the car," she ordered, pushing them into the garage and quickly unlocking the car. They climbed in swiftly, and then buckled their seatbelts.

Ten minutes later they pulled in front of Arrowhead Elementary, and quickly unbuckling jumped out. "Okay, hurry, apologize to your teacher. Here's why you're late," she said, fishing out a sheet of paper and quickly penning an excuse "Let me see… Uncle Jack has chicken pox." They smiled as she wrote it down: new town, new school, and old excuses.

"Here," she said, handing it to Zane. Smiling, she kissed him on the forehead; he wrinkled his nose.

"That's still nasty," he griped before giving Emma a hug.

The young woman turned to look at Ian who came up and gave me a big hug. "A pain you both may be at times, but I sure wouldn't give you up for anything." Emma fluffed their dark hair, knowing that they hated it. She laughed as Zane smoothed it down, looking rather perturbed.

"Mom, you're just being weird." Ian scowled.

"There you are, and I was beginning to wonder what happened to you, hugging me and everything." She smirked, giving him a kiss on the cheek.

They hurried out, slamming the door behind them. "Don't slam doors, Zane. And, Ian, don't put tacks on the teacher's chair!" she reminded them as they waved before walking into the school.

Pulling into the garage, she sighed in relief; glad she was able to work from home - glad, that is, until she realized she had ten papers to grade. Slumping down in the seat, she wondered if maybe it would all go away if she simply stayed here. Taking a deep breath, however, she opened the car-door and walked into the house.

Setting her purse and keys on the counter, she suddenly remembered the strange box. Nervously she turned around and saw that it remained where Ian had placed it. Carefully walking over, she proceeded to stare at the package for about ten minutes before gaining the courage to open it. Grabbing a steak knife, and ignoring Durin's incessant barking, Emma sliced at the tape and pulled the lid back to find a letter and three plush dolls.

February 2, 2014

_Dear Qeani,_

_Congratulations on being selected to participate in our F.A.U.L.T.T.Y program. You may recognize these toys to be Fëanor, Fingolfin, and their brother, Finarfin. We wish you the best of luck, and appreciate your acceptance of this program._

_Sincerely,_

_Manwë Súlimo_

...

After fifteen minutes spent trying to decide what was going on, and what was the best way to react to it, Emma did the only logical things she could. 1) Throw Fëanor, Finarfin, and Fingolfin onto the couch. 2) Eat Nutella with a spoon. 3) Let Durin into the house, while making sure he didn't shred poor Finarfin to bits. 4) Wait until the plushies woke up.

Sitting on the loveseat opposite the couch, Emma watched the plushies in interest; she understood what would happen, as she herself had signed up for this program ten years ago. What she didn't expect was to actually hear back from F.A.U.L.T.T.Y. Meanwhile, Durin was staring at Finarfin with great interest, contemplating the best way to chew on him: either starting with the feet, or the head, but then again that hand did look tempting…

Emma rose to go to the bathroom, and Durin sat patiently, resting his head on his paws, waiting for Emma to return. He had never understood why humans had to go so often… All at once he noted that one of the toys twitched. He raised his head abruptly. He may have been a dog, but he knew one thing: toys do not twitch.

Cautiously he crept over to the couch, and watched as the fluffiest plushy seemed to... light on fire? However, this dog was not the brightest dog on planet earth, or he would have sense enough not to sit staring at a burning plushy. Poor Durin yelped, as he received a swift kick to the nose from said delicious-looking cloth conflagration.

When he finally regained his vision, he looked up to see... three rather tall, rather new people. At once Captain Durin, sensing distress, went into alarm mode, and began barking. This immediately set off a chain reaction: Fingon the fish began blowing bubbles, while Thranduil the parrot began mimicking a car alarm.

Emma walked out of the bathroom to see what all of the commotion was about. No matter the fact that she had been expecting them to wake up, she never thought it'd be quite like this. Fingolfin was doing his best to calm the poor parrot down; Finarfin was trying his best to keep Durin from chewing on his clothing, all while Fëanor leaned on the kitchen counter with an almost gleeful expression on his face.

"What is going on here?" Emma demanded.

Fëanor looked across the room at the mortal woman, noting the distressed look on her face. "Organized chaos, my dear child." He replied grinning.


	3. Pig Latin and Oreos

**A/N: Here is the third chapter. I hope that you all like it, and major thanks to CrackinAndProudofIt for betaing. And just to clarify I do not own any of the characters except for Emma and the pets. All the rest belong to J.R.R. Tolkien**

Emma took in the state of her house one more time before warbling in a mixture of English and pig Latin. "Eyhay, um, err, hi," she mumbled weakly.

"Speak up, I do not tolerate mumbling," Fëanor said impatiently. "Normally I would suppose that you had been informed as of what to do upon our arrival. However, seeing as you are quite incapable of speech, I shall introduce you to my half-brothers," he announced with finality, then turned to his half-brothers. "Finarfin," he said, furrowing his brow, "if you will please take a seat and ignore that poor excuse of a hound, I shall introduce our host as she is clearly incapable of introducing herself."

"This is Emma Clay, daughter of Joseph and Anna Clay, resident of Pensacola, Florida, in the country of the United States of America," he pronounced, turning to look at the young mother, who appeared ready to faint.

"Brother, you can see that this adaneth is much fatigued; will you not have the decency to allow her to sit?" Fingolfin said, walking over to the young woman, who widened her eyes at the sight of him. But to be fair, what would you do if you found yourself in the presence of three supernaturally good-looking elven princes, or any ellon for that matter (prince or not).

The second son of Finwë carefully took Emma by the shoulders and guided her to the armchair. "Sit still and breathe in slowly," he said, turning to Finarfin, who was staring at the young woman with a curious expression. "Finarfin, would you mind fetching a glass of water for our host?"

Finarfin, nodding his assent, made his way into the kitchen and, after about two minutes had passed, returned to his elder brother with the glass. He watched as Emma took the glass from his brother and gingerly took a sip.

Finally unable to suppress his curiosity any longer, he spoke up. "Are all the women of the Edain dumb?" he asked, mystified.

Fingolfin turned to him with sharp eyes and harshly reprimanded his brother. "Finarfin, you should be more careful when you ask questions. This woman may not be able to speak, but she can certainly hear."

At this Emma, snapping out of her reverie, turned to the two younger sons of Finwë. "I assure you I can speak very well, but even if I couldn't, I still wouldn't be called 'dumb,'". She said quite angrily, adding with a sharp exhale, "Now if you would not mind moving so I can stand, that would be most greatly appreciated."

"Ah, Emma, you should know that that is no way to treat one of the Eldar," Fëanor said, narrowing his eyes. "As much as I have enjoyed your speaking to my half-brothers thus, I would prefer you to address me at least with more respect. Bear in mind, however, that we are all princes of the Noldor."

"I apologize; I am not quite used to addressing princes. This is not a common occurrence for me," she said, looking down feeling quite ashamed that she had been so liberal in her speech.

"Ah, yes I can see that," said Fëanor, who had begun perusing Emma's collection of books. "'War and Peace,' I might just borrow this; it is a fine story," he said, grabbing Emma's copy of Tolstoy's work from the top shelf.

"Fëanor, you have not even asked her permission!" scolded Fingolfin.

"Ah, yes." He cleared his throat noisily and turned to his host. "When I was last going through this program, I began to read this book, but was never given the chance to finish it. So prithee may I?" he requested in a mocking tone.

"Yes, yes that's fine." Emma nodded and turned to the other princes, "Well, if you will just make yourselves at home, I believe introductions are in order. This is my Dachshund, Durin. My parrot over there is Thranduil, and that," she added, pointing to the goldfish, "is Fingon."

Fingolfin turned to her in horror. "You named a fish after my son?" His tone was more than incredulous.

"There's really quite the resemblance: he has the same scaly look as your son," interjected Fëanor, looking up from his book. "And I approve of the parrot's name. Thranduil is quite the squawker. Now if only you had named the hound after his son, well... that would have been most appropriate, but I suppose Durin will have to do," he finished, returning to the story of the Bezukhovs, the Bolkonskys, the Rostovs, the Kuragins and the Drubetskoys.

"I would disagree with you there." Fingolfin turned to glare at Fëanor. "My son is in no way scaly, and even though Thranduil may seem quite cold, he does not squawk. And Durin, well, he is... I suppose that fits." he said, glancing at Finarfin, who was quite used to his brothers' shenanigans.

"Lady Emma, do you perhaps have a quill and parchment in your possession?" asked the youngest Finwion suddenly and somewhat eagerly. "I am very interested in this mortal world, and intend to document all of my findings here."

"Yes, one moment please," Emma answered, grateful for an excuse to leave the room. She hurried up the stairs and into her bedroom; closing the door behind her, she let out a very undignified squeal.

"I have the three sons of Finwë in my house." She paused, letting the fact settle on her brain. "I have the three sons of Finwë in my house!" she exclaimed as she looked around for a notebook and pen. She stopped. "I have the three sons of Finwëbin my house…." she whispered. This was every fangirl's dream, to have her beloved characters come to life, so why did she have a feeling of foreboding? She opted to ignore the doomful vibes, turning her thoughts to practical measures: she would have to help them fit in.

Grabbing a white notebook and blue pen, she hastily went back downstairs. She stopped as she entered the family room. It was empty, and... She detected a delicious aroma from the kitchen? Cautiously she walked in, and what she saw took her by surprise.

"My lords, I did not know you required food." her diction surprised her; she was beginning to talk like them!

"Well, after being turned into a plushie and waiting patiently for ten years to return to life, one tends to be very hungry," Fëanor turned to her, blasé.

What Emma saw nearly made her eyes pop out. Finarfin was wearing her Minnie Mouse 'Kiss The Cook' apron, while Fingolfin was wearing Zane's blue and green apron;} Fëanor had chosen Ian's green and brown one.

"Here, you don't have to do all this; I could easily pop a lasagna into the oven," she said, waving her hand and trying to take the spatula from Fëanor.

"No. While we are staying here, I will not be eating anything microwavable." Fëanor shuddered at an apparently unpleasant memory of packaged pasta. "We will cook, that is a man's job."

Emma stood flabbergasted, "When have you eaten that?" she questioned, ignoring the Noldo's mandate on gender roles entirely.

"When I first participated in the program, so no, I will not eat that lasagna." His tone clearly said the conversation was over.

Emma nodded, slightly insulted, as she was half-Italian. She would just have to make her guests some good, authentic lasagna.

"Emma, do you by chance have any fresh rosemary?" Fingolfin asked as he was chopping onions. "And red wine, that would be very helpful."

"What for?" she questioned suspiciously. If she remembered the stories right, elves had a thing for wine. And the last thing she needed was three drunken Ellyn in the house.

"We are making -" He paused and looked at the open cookbook on the counter. "- I believe it is called 'pot roast'?" he said, to Emma's infinite relief.

"Ah, yes, I do, in that case. The rosemary is on the back row on the third shelf of the cupboard next to you, and the wine is on the top shelf. And yes, it's called pot roast." she spouted, nodding. "Finarfin?" She proffered the pen and notebook to the youngest brother. "Here's what you requested. Is there anything else I can get you?" she added, recalling her manners.

"No, no that's fine. Do you sleep with your eyes open or closed?" he asked rather candidly.

Surprised by the randomness of the question, she answered, "Closed, I suppose. Why?"

"How curious. And for how long do you usually sleep?" he continued, writing down her response.

"Um…" She faltered. "Eight to ten hours," she finally replied, feeling very awkward.

"Finarfin, close your mouth and chop the potatoes," ordered Fëanor, annoyed by his half-brother as a strict rule, and even more annoyed by such a stream of questions.

"I apologize if my questions seemed forward; the only adan I have met is Tuor and well, it is interesting to meet a female of that race," he explained, writing everything down, from the merest scratch in the wood, to the number of breaths Emma took each minute. After finishing the last note, he finally set the pen and notebook on the table and began work on the potatoes.

_Oh, gosh, what's he going to do when my sons get home….?_ The thought almost made her laugh: she could picture Lord Finarfin taking notes of every little thing the twins did. Which sparked another, more urgent thought in her mind: today was half-day they would be home soon!

"My Lords," Emma said hesitantly, "I forgot to inform you that I have two sons, and that they will be arriving home any minute now." She smiled hoping that they would be alright with two rambunctious ten year olds.

Fingolfin turned his head toward the woman. "Thank you for informing us. Where is your husband?" he questioned.

"Oh, no, no, they're adopted. I'm not married; I'm only twenty-five, for Pete's sake!" she said rather quickly, almost embarrassed she had forgotten that elves rarely took care of children without being married; she immediately realized how that would seem. Except of course with the special case of Maedhros and Maglor, Elrond and Elros, every elf she could think of was raised by both parents in their home.

"In fact, the boys used to be my siblings," she elaborated, walking to the fridge to collect peanut butter, milk, and Oreos for her sons.(Yes, they were rather fond of chilled Oreos.)

"How did that come to be?" Finarfin inquired, perplexed.

"Well, my-our parents passed away in a car crash two years ago, so I adopted them; prior to my adopting them, they had been my foster brothers," she said as she walked to cupboard to get six glasses.

"I am very sorry for you loss." Finarfin spoke, while the others nodded in agreement.

"Don't be; you didn't do anything. But thank you," Emma answered, watching in amusement as Fëanor and Fingolfin began bickering about how much wine should be added: whether it was a cup, or simply a half-cup. Both amounts rather alarmed Emma; she was not sure she wanted that much alcohol in her sons' meal.

"Are they always like this?" She turned to Finarfin, who was dropping the chopped potatoes into the stockpot.

"Yes," he replied, soon returning to his work "only worse."

The young mother was about to decide how best to handle the situation when she heard a few short yaps of excitement from Durin.

"Mom, we're home!" Zane shouted from the other room.

"Perfect, we're in the kitchen," she called back, desperately hoping they would react well to three grown elves in the kitchen.

"What do you mean 'we'?" Zane paled when he saw the three elves, raising his brows in alarm. "Ian, you need to come here now!" he called hurriedly.

"Zane, I should have called to tell you. Do you remember the package we received this morning?" she asked calmly. Zane nodded his assent, still glaring at the elves.

"Well, these are the Princes Fëanor, Fingolfin, and Finarfin of the Noldor," she said introducing him to the three guests, "and this, my lords, is my son Zane."

If she had paid attention to the strange looks that Fëanor and Fingolfin were giving her son, she would have noticed that something was wrong. But, of course her mind was preoccupied with other things. "I know," Zane replied stiffly.

"What is it?" Ian moaned in annoyance as he walked into the room. "I was just starting a movie, why couldn't it-" He froze as he saw the princes and rather angrily said: "What are you doing here?"


End file.
